


Unforeseen Entanglement

by corvusdraconis, Dragon_and_the_Rose



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-04
Updated: 2019-06-04
Packaged: 2020-04-07 14:13:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19086697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corvusdraconis/pseuds/corvusdraconis, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragon_and_the_Rose/pseuds/Dragon_and_the_Rose
Summary: HG/SS, AU, Crackfic  Ronald does something dastardly after the war that does not bring Hermione back to him.





	Unforeseen Entanglement

**Summary** : HG/SS, AU, Crackfic Ronald does something dastardly after the war that does _not_ bring Hermione back to him.

**Beta Love:** Dutchgirl01, The Dragon and the Rose, and Flyby Commander Shepard

* * *

**Unforeseen Entanglement**

_Be careful what you wish for. Be more careful about what you pronounce._

Severus Snape knew a good thing when he had it. Moreso, he knew just _how_ stupid lucky he was to have found it after two wars had done their best to kill him.

Nothing had gone to plan.

He'd tried to sabotage it.

He knew he didn't _deserve_ happiness.

He'd believed that—

He'd truly believed that nothing since that day he called Lily a Mudblood made him the world's most belly-crawling bastard.

But now, Hermione Granger, grown up know-it-all, insistent handwaver, bookworm, and witch-of-the-nigh-sentient hair had accepted his proposal and lay curled up snugly against him on the very first entirely refurbished couch in Spinner's End.

Crates of items, all lovingly packed, now infested his old home like her favourite Muggle toothpaste has invaded his bathroom cupboard. Some, they had unpacked together; some, he had left to her to unpack herself— fully knowing that some things were too personally sentimental for any hands but hers to find a place that was appropriate.

Like the collection of seashells sent by Hermione's parents after they had fully recovered their memories only to decide they actually wanted to stay in Australia.

Like her feminine hygiene products…

Yes, those were _definitely_ for her to sort out.

And her secret stash of Dutch tea and chocolate that she hoarded like a dragon over gold— hissing and all.

Sometimes, he rated so well, she actually shared with him.

Sometimes.

As he looked down, his lank black hair framing his face as he stared at her peacefully slumbering on , he lightly touched her temple with his fingers. She stirred just enough to snatch his hand and pull it down to cuddle against his arm, trapping his hand close to her chest.

He closed his eyes.

Just that one act— pulling him close while half-awake or even in the deadness of sleep— had utterly undone his resolve. It was proof that she wasn't making up some fantasy attraction to him. It had been the start of his tentative yet needy trust that someone actually gave a _damn_ about him.

Hermione had broken up with that ginger oaf, one Ronald Bilius Weasley after the war, having soon realised that the shameful abandonment incident in the forest, Weasley's cowardly, jealous departure from helping Potter's attempt to end the war was only the very tip of the ugly iceberg.

She'd thought it had been an entirely civil thing, but Skeeter made the entire whole of Britain think she was a cruel heartbreaker— unfit for love of any kind. Weasley was the heartbroken innocent, who attempted to put together his life and find love again—

And again.

And again.

Aaaaand _again_.

Nothing truly scared Ms Skeeter off a scent— and she might as well be a dung beetle given her affinity for accumulating absolute shite. She wrote her perfectly round balls of dung and then flung them off at the masses to be trampled and griped over, gossipped and torn to pieces.

He suspected they were in cahoots—Weasley and Skeeter— seeing how Weasley was an Auror and Skeeter had suddenly discovered Snape's address. Hermione had connected the floo to the network so she could "commute" to her job at the Obliviation Clinic that had started when she'd discovered a way to restore Obliviated memories while researching her own parents' condition.

It was the only method, so far, that did not result in unfortunate side-effects and had proven results for both magicals and Muggles.

He, of course, had been brought in as the potions master, and they had devised a regimen combining potion therapy, Arithmancy, and subtle memory charms.

Neither of them would ever have to work thanks to the end-result of their collaboration, but they chose to anyway.

Because he could, and she wanted to help people.

Snape suspected that when they'd hooked up the floo network, Ronald had been there waiting to read the records. Only after that event did Skeeter arrive at his front door, demanding an interview— pretending to be some Muggle press-agent to rile up the neighbours.

Perhaps, he thought, they should move. Outside of Britain, perhaps. Outside the influence of the British Aurory.

Perhaps, to Australia, so any comer could be accosted by bird-eating spiders, cone-snails, or brassed off inland taipans, brown snakes, or just happen to fall into a swarm of box jellies—

Oops?

They had worked so hard to give Spinner's End a new beginning— together. They had banished the ghosts of his horrible childhood and purged away the sticky, alcohol-laden residue of so many drunken nights. They'd redone the rooms, moved the walls, reformed the entire inside to suit _them_.

He'd made love to her in every room in the house, and it pleased him that it was his name she breathed during and after.

His father no longer haunted his memories of Spinner's End. They had created their own paradise within the old shell, and they had even repaired the roof, replaced the windows, and given the outside a thorough revamp, making it easily the cosiest of the cookiecutter too-close-smothering homes of Cokeworth.

Nor, he admitted, was it haunted by the memories of his disturbingly frail, suppressed, and abused mother who had chosen to stand with the devil she knew, never supporting or standing up for her own son.

He no longer hated her weakness.

He had stood by the witch he had loved unrequitedly.

He had moved mountains for her memory.

Saved his arrogant, lazy, chip off the old block son for _her_ memory.

And she had never once given him what _this_ witch— _his_ witch— gave him just by smiling at him over the rim of a good book or with the gentle wrap of her fingers around his when she wanted comfort.

Comfort.

From him.

_I see no difference._

_Must you be such an insufferable know-it-all?_

She was no child, now.

They had banished those old memories like those of his miserable childhood, creating a brand new life together—

It wasn't to say they didn't fight because they did.

_Are you a wizard or are you not, Severus Snape? Put the ruddy lid down!_

Severus' lips curled up in amusement.

Her hair always writhed with magic and residual intent, often doing things without her realising it— like pulling him down for an unexpected snog.

Or smacking him upside the head with a cooking spatula while her back was turned.

Admittedly— he'd _deserved_ it. He'd called her familiar a worthless ginger furball whose sole purpose in life was to shed over every bloody thing he owned.

The feline was not worthless, but he _did,_ in fact, shed over every bloody thing he owned that was not specifically charmed for protection against fur, dander, dust, and whatever else.

"Gifts" of dead rodents, rabbits, birds, gnomes, bowtruckles, doxies and pixies, for example.

Sodding _hairballs_ —

Damnable felines.

If Crookshanks wasn't so insufferably charming at times—

He did make quite a good lap warmer, foot warmer—wherever the furry little beast decided to catloaf it up was considerably warmer for it.

And all the dead offerings _did_ at least result in some rather useful fresh potions ingredients once the coating of feline slobber was removed.

Hermione was looking up at him with sleepy eyes.

"Happy birthday, my gorgeous girl," he whispered, smiling as the tender endearment made her flush a delightful shade of pink.

He knew she didn't see herself as beautiful, and maybe the majority of Britain's prim and pampered modern witches didn't either—

But he meant it.

He reminded her of it daily as he worshipped her body, whispering his prayers to the gods that had allowed her to break into his lonely world and entangle him in her wild tendrils of— _life._

He couldn't even begin to fathom his life without her anymore.

"Mmmmfph," she hummed. "We fell asleep on the couch again."

"As you say," he replied, amused. They hadn't really slept much the night previous.

Her tender kiss upon his neck caused him to rumble lowly, a start of a growl forming in his throat as he possessively took the skin of her neck into his mouth and sucked.

She mewled, her eyes fluttering as her hand clawed into his hair, drawing him closer.

They hadn't signed any papers.

They didn't need to.

Threats of a marriage law had nothing on them thanks to an enthusiastic merging of the magical signatures.

Let no man tear asunder…

The wedding would be mainly for Hermione's Muggle family. They wouldn't understand the nature of magical marriage, and he was fine with appeasing them.

The doorbell interrupted them, and Hermione let out a squeal of mortification as she pulled on her dressing gown, going for the door with somewhat awkward and heavy staggering steps. She tugged up her collar to cover up the evidence of his affection in case it was a neighbour or, gods forbid, that infernal pest, Rita Skeeter.

He considered spraying down the house with a potent insecticide, but murder was still murder

Unfortunately.

Hermione returned carrying an obnoxiously perfumed floral parcel, and Severus' nostrils flared with instinctive disgust.

"Ginny's work," Hermione explained. "She remembered my birthday this year."

"She seems to have forgotten we both have a fully functional sense of smell," Severus muttered.

Hermione smiled at him, touching her fingers to the back of his hand. "She tries."

"She's quite _trying_ , yes."

Hermione rolled her eyes.

Severus, annoyed that it would be Hermione's friend would be the one to give her the first gift to open, frowned.

Hermione, sensing his displeasure, dropped the parcel and cupped his cheeks with her hands. "I can wait to open it."

So much for the tempered face of an Occlumens spy—

He pressed his lips to her forehead. "Go ahead and open it," he said, shaking his head.

Hermione pressed her hands together, trapping his between them. "You are my greatest gift of all, Severus. Every single day."

"That's a load of— _**mmpphf!**_ " His snark was quickly cut off by a searing kiss.

"I stand corrected," he said in a whisper into her mouth.

He brushed his fingers across her lips with the same almost-painful dubious longing that both treasured and could hardly believe she was truly his.

Someone who genuinely cared for him.

Perhaps, she had no idea what she really meant to him, but the fact she cared for him was something so utterly foreign. He had been so used to half-truths and usefulness over true compassion. The Dark Lord, of course, didn't care about anyone but himself. Dumbledore, on the other hand, cared only for his so-called "greater good".

Hermione—

Somehow, the addled witch had transferred her genuine sense of compassion and her unshakable loyalty to _him_.

Gods, if she had been at his side when he was a younger wizard—

He could have taken over the whole bloody world.

For a simple _touch._

A whisper of his name in the heat of passion.

For—

"I love you," Hermione said so easily, kissing his oversized hooked nose with a warm smile.

_Love._

He had never known a love that could be returned without any expectations.

Oh, but he did return it, with compound interest besides.

And she—

She thrived and blossomed not so unlike a delicate, well-tended orchid— incredibly rare and beautiful.

She'd had her doubts that he could ever truly return her love.

His own memories of Lily and all he had done for the love of one remarkably self-centered young witch. How, she had wondered, could she possibly hold a candle to such a memory of utter devotion?

But younger Severus had never known anyone _but_ Lily—

He had never known the shy, exploring touch of a witch in love, whose unselfish passion rose and fell with his caress.

His and his alone.

He would even suffer occasional visits from Potter's son, purely for her sake. He would be— civil.

If only to see her smile at him with that wondrous look of joy.

He'd deny it, of course. He'd never let on to Potter of all people that he was playing nice for anyone.

"I'll go make the tea," Severus said, his tone soft, a rumble of velvet thunder.

Hermione smiled at him as she sat down to fiddle with the obnoxiously perfumed birthday package.

He would give her _his_ gift later and let her have her moment of appreciation that Ginevra hadn't completely written her off as a friend even when her youngest brother steadfastly believed that Hermione had fallen completely off the turnip truck and gone flying straight to full-on mental.

"Severus?"

He turned to face her again. "Hn?"

She blushed at him slightly. "Do you think we could maybe add on a room?"

He tilted his head. "Do we really _need_ three libraries?"

She threw the ribbon— the tea rose-scented ribbon— at his head. "Git."

He quirked a smile. Yes. Yes, he certainly was.

She looked down, thoughtful. "I just think it would be more sensible to have an actual room for some new furniture instead of putting it in the second library—"

He arched a brow, not missing how it made her flush with desire.

For him, he marvelled. Him.

"Pray tell," he drawled. "Whatever could you possibly want?"

"I doubt you'd want to have a crib and the nappy changing table in the second library," she said, her voice soft— a whisper.

A beat.

Another.

His mouth worked.

His voice did not.

She busied herself with unwrapping the present as he hurriedly went to prepare the tea as the newest revelation sank in.

But not before he gave his lovely wife a _very_ passionate snog.

"Herbal tea for you, my wife," he whispered into her mouth, smirking as her lips pulled into a pout.

He could still feel the brush of her slender fingers on the back of his hand, lightly tracing the veins under the skin even as he departed.

His body was tingling with the absolute joy of knowing that their child now grew inside her womb.

_Theirs_.

His hands worked over the different varieties of tea leaves, dried fruits, spices and herbs with habitual ease. He brought jars up to his nose to scent them, smiling as he knew just what she would like despite her protest that it wasn't "right".

Green tea leaves, a touch of ginger, some dried peach—

Perfect.

He heard a sudden, sharp gasp.

_**Severus!** _

He felt her say his name.

In his very _soul._

The tea went scattering heedlessly to the floor as the ceramic teapot shattered on impact. He ran to her side faster than he'd ever run before.

He arrived to see his Hermione caught in a silent scream as countless grains of glowing sand surrounded her.

She reached for him—

"Hermione!"

He lunged for her, his fingertips just barely touching hers as a blast of powerful magic tore her from his side and a broken time-turner clattered onto the hardwood flooring. The grains of spent sand swirled and came to a halt.

His hands trembled as he scooped up the sand into his hands and the unique bond they had shared so willingly, their combined magic, their love, shattered.

A small piece of parchment on a twine tie fluttered on one of the broken pieces. A messy, scrawling hand declared:

_Found this with your name on it, 'Mione. Thought you might want to keep it. -Ron_

The howl of utter anguish heard throughout Cokeworth that day was second only to the screams of terror throughout Britain as the entirety of their timeline suddenly collapsed upon itself.

* * *

Ron abruptly found himself back at Hogwarts feeling oddly shorter and much more confused than usual.

" _ **Gryffindor!"**_ the Sorting Hat proclaimed, and he was swiftly herded toward the table. His body moved by itself.

"Hey there, little bro," the twins greeted, ginger eyebrows waggling mischievously. "See you made it into Gryffindor."

Percy scowled at him. "Don't make any trouble here," he demanded at once, turning to watch the rest of the Sorting.

"Who is _that_?" Harry whispered, pointing to the Head Table.

Ron balked. Harry was young again. He found himself looking toward the front table.

_Snape._

The infamous Dark wizard was every bit as brooding as ever.

"That's Professor Snape," Seamus said knowledgeably. "He teaches Defence Against the Dark Arts."

"Well, one of them, anyway," Neville said, rubbing his ear with one hand. "They're brilliant but right scary, the both of them. Saved the world, or so my mum and dad say. Chose to teach after the war. Heroes that stood alongside Headmistress McGonagall and the likes of Master Auror Alastor Moody."

"The other Snape, she teaches Arithmancy," Angelina said, bobbing her head with enthusiasm. "She apprenticed under multiple Vectors— was practically adopted into their family, I heard. She and Septima Vector are almost like sisters. You heard of Septima Vector? She's in America trying to whip their Arithmancy program into shape, or so my mum tells me."

" _ **Slytherin!"**_ the Sorting Hat announced, and Ron's head whipped around to see a black-haired girl with a familiar bushy head of curls hopping off the stool and rushing towards the _wrong_ table.

The Slytherin table cheered loudly as Malfoy scooched over to make room for the young witch.

"I _**knew**_ you would be Slytherin, Abby!" Malfoy crowed joyfully. "My father will hear of this!"

Pug-faced Pansy Parkinson crossed her arms and looked quite jealous as Draco put his arm around the other witch and ruffled her bushy halo of curls with obvious affection.

"Wut is going _on_ here?" Ron blurted, realising that he and his body finally agreed on something.

"My sister's been Draco's favourite since they were in nappies together," a dark-eyed boy said from the other side of the table. He sipped his pumpkin juice as his pale and thin, almost skeletal fingers gripped the cup.

" _Sister?"_ Ron heard himself say faintly.

"What rock have _you_ been living under, Weasley?" Dean asked, frowning over his mug of tea. "Everybody knows Abigail Minerva Snape. She and Draco have been been a part of that Ministry accelerated program from the very beginning. They wrote the _Wizarding Wiles Cookbook_ together with Stephen here." Dean poked the dark-eyed, pale-faced boy.

"Leave me out of this," Stephen said, rolling his eyes and waving them off impatiently.

"You never did like fame, eh, Stephen?" Fred ribbed.

"Psh," the wizard answered. "I'll make my _own_ name, thanks, mate."

"Going to be pretty hard with a middle name like Alastor and a last name like Snape," Parvati said, giggling.

"Shut it, you," Stephen huffed with mock annoyance, crossing his arms across his chest as a faint smile tugged at his thin lips.

McGonagall was welcoming everyone to Hogwarts when Ron suddenly realised that Dumbledore was nowhere in sight.

"Ay, where's Dumbledore?" Ron blurted.

Harry turned to him, frowning. "You hit your head on the way here, mate?"

"Everyone _knows_ Albus Dumbledore died from a cursed ring shortly before the war ended," a golden-haired boy whispered a bit too loudly. "My da says the Snapes tried to warn him, but he went ahead and put it on anyway."

"Don't be such a gossip, Ethan," Dean said. "Just because you're a Moody doesn't mean your dad is always right."

"He _is_ though," Ethan protested, to which the table all rolled their eyes.

"Yeah, if you'd believe Ethan's stories, some idiot also screwed up their timeline to give us a quick end to the war," Susan Bones said, touching her nose.

"But, it's _true_ ," Ethan protested.

"Rubbish," Hannah Abbott scolded. "Enjoy our feast instead of telling ridiculous stories."

Ron's eyes bugged out of his head as he saw a familiar wild mane of mahogany curls sitting behind the Head Table.

Hermione sat beside McGonagall, who was sitting in the Headmaster's chair. She leaned in to listen to Minerva and then leaned toward Snape _**(SNAPE!)**_ and whispered something in his ear.

The Dark wizard's lips curved into a smile just before—

No.

_No!_

_**NO!** _

Hermione's lips kissed the end of the greasy git's nose as her hand curved around his with—

That was _**not**_ affection.

_**No way!** _

_**No!** _

Hermione's hand drifted to her belly— her distinctively swollen belly. Her face lit up as she guided Snape's hand to her abdomen.

The Dark wizard's eyes seemed to glow with smug satisfaction even as Hermione let Minerva place her hand on over her belly.

"Going to have another sibling, eh Stephen?" Neville said with a knowing smile.

Ron stood up suddenly and screamed, " _ **There is no way 'Mione married the greasy git!"**_

All eyes from every table focused on Ron as he felt a distinctive pulling sensation—

_Ffffffffffff_ - _ **POP!**_

Ron saw his body falling away as his younger "self" fainted dead away. He felt himself being inexorably pulled further away until the icy-cold hand of one older Severus Snape clenched tight around his throat.

"I have found you at _last_ , Mr Weasley," the Dark wizard drawled, his black eyes both stone and fury. "I believe we have—" He smiled darkly. "A bit of unfinished business between us regarding the assault on my wife."

Ron found himself in a grey plane where everything was in shades of dark and darker grey.

Except for the—

Snape was gone, only—

Oh no.

No, no, no!

Huge bright pink arachnids materialised in the greyscape, with thick acidic venom dripping from their mandibles.

"Time Weavers get really brassed off if you fuck with their intricate webs, Mr Weasley. I believe I will rather enjoy the hands-off approach as I watch karma take its pound of flesh," Snape's voice said venomously as the gigantic spiders eagerly surrounded him.

As the arachnids descended upon the screaming Ron, the once and future time-erased Snape smiled darkly as he sipped from a steaming mug of tea.

"Over and over again," Snape finished, enjoying his tea as the time pocket rewound, and Ron experienced his demise once again.

And again.

And _again._

Snape idly turned a page in the book he was reading. He may have been cheated out of _his_ happily ever after, but his younger self gained what he had never had. Between that and the shrill girly screams of one Ronald Bilius Weasley, he was willing to entertain the thought that sweet justice, at least, was very much alive and well.

_"I love you,"_ Hermione's voice whispered as he placed his hand to his chest, eyes closing.

"And I you," he replied in a whisper. "Always," Snape replied as a tear slid down his hooked nose as the light from the Afterlife swallowed him up and carried him away, leaving the Time Weavers to their task.

* * *

Severus embraced his wife as they looked over the ramparts of Hogwarts. She leaned into him with an utterly content smile.

"Hello, my husband," she said, accepting his warmth and embrace.

"Hello, my gorgeous girl," he rumbled, kissing her neck.

"Psh," Hermione scoffed, but she snuggled into him. "Thank you for not murdering one of the new cubs on his very first day," she said.

"I'm not sure what stories the Weasley family has been spreading about me, but I usually wait until my first class of the year before they start insulting my hair," Severus said dryly.

Hermione chuckled. "I _love_ your hair."

"You're also addle-brained, my wife," Severus said.

Hermione grinned, unrepentant.

Severus looked into her eyes, sombre. "Whatever did I do to deserve you?" he whispered with no lessening wonder.

Hermione pressed a kiss to his lips, pressing one finger to his mouth. "You loved me back."

Severus felt his heart threaten to explode with emotion, and he engulfed her tightly. "Always," he breathed into her ear as he closed his eyes.

As the stars swirled above them and the students slept on obliviously on their first night at Hogwarts, they couldn't help but feel like the luckiest people in the entire world.

* * *

**The End!**


End file.
